Rafael had bigger problems than keeping his mother out of his personal life. Someone was out to ruin his family, and he had to find out who it was before it was too late. Terrifying things had happened over the summer, and even though his dad put up a brave front, Rafael could tell he was deeply concerned about Nicco’s restaurant being vandalized, the shooting at the Beach Bentley Hotel and the recent arson attack. For that reason Rafael didn’t bother to tell his father about the blackmail letters he’d received last Friday. He’d immediately turned the letters over to the police, though he knew there was little the cops could do. It was ultimately up to him and his security team to unearth the truth, and they would, no matter what.
“I want to get to know you better.”
Rafael surfaced from his thoughts. “Is that right?”
“Absolutely,” the blonde purred, brushing her lips against his cheek and a hand against his forearm once again. “Let’s sneak inside for a quickie. No one will even notice we’re gone.”
Rafael had to admit it was a tempting offer, but he wouldn’t do it. He wasn’t looking for trouble, and Stefano’s cousin could be the poster girl for Gold Diggers Anonymous. For all he knew, she was in cahoots with one of his business rivals, and he had no desire to end up on the cover of a sleazy Italian tabloid. Not when he was on the verge of finalizing a multimillion-dollar deal with one of the largest car manufacturers in the world. He had come to Venice for business, not pleasure, and it was imperative he keep his eyes on the prize, and off Julietta’s jaw-dropping cleavage.
“I’m not interested.”
“Of course you are,” she argued, licking her lips lasciviously. “I can do things with my tongue that will make you scream....”
A rich, effervescent laugh filled the air, seizing Rafael’s attention. It couldn’t be, he told himself, shaking his head. No way she was there. Not in Venice, at his friend’s wedding.
Another giggle reached his ears, louder and longer than the last. Rafael combed the tent, searching for the woman whose throaty, sultry laugh still gave him chills. His gaze landed on the bar, more than fifty feet away. And there she was. Paris St. Clair. How could he miss her? She’d been his first love, the only woman he’d ever felt an intense connection to, and even after all these years the sound of her voice still aroused him.
Her scarlet-red lips looked plump and juicy, her silky hair hung like a curtain over her shoulders, and she was dressed to kill in a black lace minidress. His eyes roved over her delectable shape. His pulse hammered in his ears, and his temperature shot through the roof. Breathe, fool, breathe!
Rafael stood at the back of the room, mesmerized, watching Paris dazzle her group of male admirers. Her radiant, butterscotch skin was glowing, her eyes shimmered under the decorative lights and her silky brown legs seemed to go on for miles. He was curious to know if she was married, how many children she had and if she’d fulfilled her dream of owning a beauty salon franchise. But most important, he wondered if she’d ever thought of him over the years.
Rafael didn’t realize he was moving until he heard the blonde’s high-pitched voice fade into the background. With a dry mouth and a pounding heart, he strode purposely toward the bar. The beauty with the dazzling smile and bountiful curves sure looked like his ex, but Rafael had to know for sure if it was Paris, and there was only one way to find out.
* * *
Paris St. Clair loved having male attention. She stood at the bar discussing lucrative investment opportunities with a group of distinguished Italian businessmen worth millions. It was her job as maid of honor not only to tend to the bride, but to socialize with the other guests. Plus Paris knew if she continued flirting, and laughing at their jokes, they’d soon be putty in her hands.
Raising her champagne flute to her lips, she discreetly scoured the tent for anyone else wearing diamond watches and designer suits. No one caught her eye, but she made a mental note to introduce herself to the groom’s family during dessert. Stefano Via came from old money, and although he never flaunted his wealth, Paris knew his father, a former mayor, was one of the richest men in the country. Definitely someone to get better acquainted with.
“So, what happened, little lady?” The media mogul with the salt-and-pepper hair grinned like the Cat in the Hat. “Did you hit the target or miss by a mile?”
Make them wait. It builds suspense! she thought, taking another sip of her champagne. Being a senior executive at her father’s company, Excel Construction, had given her keen insight into the opposite sex. And holding center court among a group of rich, influential men was an exhilarating high. Being the “boss’s kid” definitely had its downside, but Paris wouldn’t trade working for her father, or her fabulous, jet-setting lifestyle, for anything in the world. She’d never forgotten her humble beginnings—all the times she’d gone to bed hungry as a child—and she was willing to do whatever it took to remain in the lap of luxury.
“I hit the bull’s-eye on my first throw,” she said proudly, shaking off the bitter memories of her past. “And when my brother fell into the dunk tank, he looked like he was going to cry!”
Tossing her head back, she laughed long and hard at the memory of Oliver shouting and flailing his arms in the dunk tank during Excel Construction’s annual employee barbecue. Midgiggle, her gaze fell across a superfine man with light brown skin, a fitness trainer’s build and the sexiest lips she had ever seen. The ground fell out from under her feet and her eyes widened in surprise.
Swallowing a gasp, she willed herself not to faint. Her heart was beating so loud and so fast she feared it would explode straight out of her chest. It was Rafael. Her first love. The guy she’d lost her virginity to; the man she’d once innocently believed was her soul mate.
Paris squinted, focused her gaze. Maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d mistaken a gorgeous Italian guy for her ex, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Their eyes met, zeroed in on each other, and Paris knew without a doubt it was Rafael. She’d recognize his smoldering stare and those long, thick eyelashes anywhere. Off-kilter, she gripped the side of the bar to keep from keeling over onto the manicured grass.
Eyes narrowed, she inspected him from head to toe. The years had obviously been kind to him. Back in the day, Rafael had been cute, but today he put the h in hot. His thick black hair was neatly trimmed, and he was immaculately groomed. His muscled physique filled out every inch of his tailored suit, and his boyish smile still made her heart swoon. He moved through the crowd with more confidence than one of Hollywood’s leading men, and if that wasn’t bad enough, charisma oozed from his pores.
Paris fanned a hand in front of her face, warning herself to get a grip. But he looked so dapper in his khaki suit that she couldn’t help but stare at him. This can’t be real. I must be dreaming. What is Rafael Morretti doing here? And why is he headed my way?
His cologne was a subtle fragrance, and as it wafted through the air her thoughts slipped back to the afternoon she’d lost her virginity to him at his family’s beach house in Cape May. Did he remember that night? Paris quickly told herself it didn’t matter. She didn’t have time to relive the past, not when her past was staring her right in the face. Rafael was there, just inches away, and seeing him again gave her a heady feeling.
Desire rushed down her spine, tickling and teasing her most intimate parts. After all these years, she still wanted him, but Paris was determined not to embarrass herself.
To break the ice, she smiled. Rafael didn’t.
“This
